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Abi cries out, but I refuse to take the bait and keep my eyes focused on him. He’s doing this to scare her, and I know how much Phil loves the smell of fear.
Turning around, I see Tristan and Quinn standing a few feet away, nervously eyeing the window.
“Protect them,” I say to Tristan, placing my hand over his frantic heart.
He nods and places his palm over mine.
“And you,” he says as he leans forward, softly kissing my cheek.
Giving him a small smile, I memorize every piece that makes up Tristan Berkeley because I don’t know when I’ll ever see him again.
“That wasn’t goodbye,” he says with a sad smile, but I don’t reply and only nod.
“Let’s do this,” Quinn barks, and I pull my hand away from Tristan’s chest, my body sagging with the sadness of what we’re about to do.
“Let me do the talking,” I instruct Quinn, who nods, but I’m not convinced.
“Catch ya soon,” Quinn says, turning to Tristan as he affectionately cradles the back of his neck.
“Be careful, man,” Tristan replies, bringing him in for a quick hug.
Their earnest goodbye has tears stinging my eyes because it’s my fault they are once again bidding each other farewell.
But I wipe away my unshed tears and suck it up because my tears can wait.
Once they’ve said their goodbyes, Quinn looks at me with a confident smile. “Let’s do this.”
Taking a deep breath, I reach for his hand, and we take our first step toward freedom because I know what I have to do.
Polly and Cynthia wait for us at the top of the stairs, both frightened and in tears.
“This is my fault,” Polly cries, her hands covering her face. “If I never went out, they would have never found us.”
Cynthia soothes her, running a hand down her back, which only induces a loud sobbing fit.
“This is my fault as much as it is yours,” I gently say, and as Polly lifts her tearstained face, I can see the confusion in her eyes.
“It’ll be over soon, and then, then you can go back to the way things were.” I smile because that future sounds like a good future to me.
But Polly surprises me when she unexpectedly throws herself into my arms, sobbing.
I don’t know what to do, but my arms rise of their own accord, and I wrap her into a tight embrace. She weeps into my shoulder, and I rub her back, just like Cynthia did.
“It’ll be okay. Tristan is here to protect you.”
However, she pulls out of our hug, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. “I’m not worried about us. I’m worried about you. Who’s going to protect you?” she says, and I stare, stunned. Why would she care?
“I will,” Quinn states, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I look up at him with a weak smile because no one can protect me—I’m beyond being saved.
But I nod, knowing the lie will end soon.
“Protect my sister,” Polly bawls, nodding at Quinn, silently begging him to shelter me from what I have to do.
“With my life,” he replies, and I sadly smile at Polly’s term of endearment because their efforts are all in vain.
Cynthia is an inconsolable mess, and I doubt she’ll have anything coherent to say. So I decide to speak for both of us because I only wish to say one simple thing.
